


Cohesion

by Laylah



Category: Kamen Rider Amazons (2016)
Genre: Community: seasonofkink, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 01:18:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7869907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's bad for team cohesion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cohesion

It's bad for team cohesion. Mamoru might have unwavering faith in the rest of them, but the team is a fragile thing, held together by paychecks and cheap booze, and it can't afford to get unbalanced. Hell, look at what Maehara's infatuation with Ootaki led to. And if it's bad for team cohesion generally, then it would be doubly bad if Makoto let himself get involved, since he's in charge of these assholes.

Fortunately, being in each other's pockets all the time means the opportunities are scarce. There's no goddamn privacy in the dorm, and it's easy enough—and only polite—to overlook it when somebody takes too long in the shower, but two people disappearing together would be too obvious.

Despite that, there are still possibilities. And despite knowing better, Makoto is only human.

"Anything else you assholes want us to pick up for you?" he asks as he shrugs his coat on.

Mostly that just provokes shrugs and muttering from the others where they're huddled around the kotatsu. "More whiskey?" Misaki suggests.

"Already on the list," Fuku says, his mouth set in that wry line that means _of course it is_. It's the only suggestion the others come up with. 

"We'll be back soon," Makoto says. "Call if anything comes up."

The two of them leave the dorm for the chilly dry night outside, their breath steaming as they head for the van. Fuku cranks the heat up as soon as the engine's warm enough to blow anything but cold air. "We making a detour?" he asks as he pulls out into the street.

"If you want to," Makoto says. He leads the team. He can't just say _yes_ to this question. It wouldn't be right.

Fuku makes a sharp turn off the main road. 

They don't talk about this much. Either there isn't much to say, or else they'd have to say too much; Makoto's never sure which. They connect well enough without explaining themselves to each other, anyway.

Fuku parks the van in a blind alley; at this hour nobody's likely to come around telling them to move along. He turns to Makoto, quiet, the offer made with one raised eyebrow, with the situation itself: a few spare moments when nobody has to know what they're doing.

Makoto leans in for a kiss. That's always the part he feels the most uncertain about, the kissing, but he does this to feel human again and that's important. Fuku kisses back, anyway, eyes open and one hand coming to rest against his side. 

They can't afford much time. The others are waiting and this isn't supposed to be more than a simple food run. Probably there's something wrong with the fact that knowing that gets Makoto going, but frankly if he stopped to list everything that was wrong with his life he'd be here all night, and they don't have that kind of time. So there it is, just another fact to live with: sneaking around hiding this from the team gets him hard.

He breaks off the kiss and jerks his head toward the back of the van. Fuku nods. They climb into the back and Fuku sits on the bench seat, his legs spread wide enough that Makoto can kneel between them. He's already hard, too, when Makoto tugs his pants unbuttoned. Maybe it's just something they've trained themselves into, treating these opportunities as erotic by definition. You can get used to just about anything once it becomes your normal.

Makoto licks his lips, leans down, and takes Fuku's cock in his mouth. Fuku sighs, a soft forceful exhale, like the contact is a relief. They all spend too much time wound too tightly; this job will kill them slowly if it doesn't kill them fast.

That's not a sexy thought, though, and Makoto shoves it away as best he can. He focuses instead on the slide of Fuku's cock against his tongue, the soft harshness of Fuku's breathing, the clutch of Fuku's hand on his shoulder. He needs this. They both need this. 

Fuku's hips buck and Makoto chokes, but he doesn't pull up, just wraps his hand around Fuku's shaft so it won't go too deep like that again. He tries to lose himself in the sensations of the moment—the wet sounds of movement, the musky scent he's breathing in, the stiffness of flesh against his tongue. 

"Close," Fuku rasps. Makoto hums an acknowledgement and curls his tongue against the head of Fuku's cock on the next stroke: _go ahead_. Fuku's thighs tremble, like he's straining for it, and a few strokes later he groans in relief, his come flooding Makoto's mouth. It's bitter as hell but Makoto swallows anyway.

He sits back and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. "Better?"

Fuku nods.

They trade places without needing to talk about it. Makoto tries not to focus on how much time they've already taken and how little they can afford to spare. He lets Fuku unbutton him, arches into Fuku's touch, swears when Fuku leans down to lick the head of his cock. A few quick licks and then Fuku is taking him in, sucking him wet and sloppy.

Makoto leans back against the side of the van and lets himself relax into it. The wet heat of Fuku's mouth is a goddamn luxury compared with the rest of his life, a little human contact and the chance to satisfy an appetite that too often gets lost in their constant struggle for bare survival. In a better world, he wouldn't have to get by on just this, rushed blowjobs in stolen moments. But in a better world he wouldn't even recognize the life he's living now, so where's the point to thinking about that?

No, this is enough to keep him going, and that's what matters. He focuses on the slick warmth of Fuku's lips and tongue, the glancing discomfort of being grazed by teeth, the convulsive clutch of throat when Fuku takes him deeper. He's panting quietly as the tension builds in the pit of his stomach, as his balls draw tight, and without really thinking about it his hand finds Fuku's and he holds on. 

"Yes," he says as he tips over the edge, and Fuku squeezes his hand, and then he's coming, spilling the last week's worth of tension and adrenaline into Fuku's mouth. The light behind his eyes is perfect and gold.

By the time he catches his breath Fuku has gotten up and headed back up to the front of the van. Makoto tucks himself back into his pants and follows. "Thanks," he says as he settles into his seat.

"You too," Fuku says. There's a faint hint of a smile on his face as he puts the van back in gear. They pull back out onto the street and Makoto tries his best to hold onto that moment of relief as long as he can.

The way it goes from here: they'll hit up someplace with cheap takeout and buy a dozen orders of katsu curry. They'll stop in at a convenience store for more booze. They'll go back to the dorm and be hailed briefly as heroes for bringing home dinner, before drinking themselves unconscious around the kotatsu while they wait for the next Amazon to be found. And they'll keep not talking about this thing they've been doing when they get a moment alone. After all, it's bad for team cohesion.

Even if it's holding Makoto together.


End file.
